What does New York look like deep in the night?
Manhattan's dazzling lights?
Brooklyn's glowing streets?
Queens falling silent?
Though most New Yorkers hurried home after dark, the city was still the world's stage, always alive with its own nightlife.
Bars in Manhattan throbbed with music and chaos.
On empty streets, street racers howled past.
Near Morningside Park, a luxury sedan pulled up. A streetwalker slid into the car with a smile, her body already moving into position before the vehicle even drove away.
In a nearby alley, three muggers stared wide-eyed, lifeless, sprawled in filthy puddles.
Thud!
A fourth, who had bolted but returned out of loyalty, fell just as quickly—his skull snapped like his friends'.
Sewage splashed. Hawk stepped forward just as it was about to hit him, appearing at the alley's mouth in a blink. He flared his nostrils, caught a scent, and crossed the street without pause.
Across the way stood a weathered six-story building. Hawk looked up, his gaze locking on a window on the third floor.
Inside, three voices whispered urgently.
"Shit, fuck, shit!"
"Stop swearing. I just heard—Roy's dead."
"…Really?"
"Yeah, he's done. If his wife pulls through, she'll rat us out once she learns he's gone."
"True."
"So what now?"
"Maybe we just shoot her. Dead's fifty grand. Split three ways, still good."
"You're crazy. Alive is a hundred grand!"
"Idiot, alive's impossible now."
"…."
Hawk smiled faintly. Found them.
He glanced once at the limp security camera nearby, then entered the building. Climbing the stairs, he stopped at a door on the third floor.
A heartbeat later—
Crash!
The lock shattered. The door swung open.
The three men inside froze, drinks and cigarettes half-raised.
And then it was over.
Two heads rolled across the floor, their bodies spurting red.
The last man collapsed, trembling violently. His bladder let go, the sound of liquid pattering embarrassingly loud in the silence.
Hawk's eyes cut toward him. "Hold it."
The sound stopped immediately.
The man raised his pale face, lips shaking. "Don't… don't kill me."
"Name." Hawk wiped his hands with a towel. "Who hired you?"
The man's muddled brain cleared in an instant. His thoughts raced.
Don't say it. If I keep quiet, maybe I live. But if I talk, I'm dead.
Criminals knew best the value of leverage. With his comrades gone, he was the only bargaining chip left.
His fear faded. Courage returned. He stood, meeting Hawk's eyes with forced bravado.
"You want the name? Let me walk out, and I'll—"
Snap!
His world spun. His eyes caught sight of a headless body gushing blood on the floor. The clothes looked familiar.
Wait—that's…
Pain flared. Darkness swallowed him whole.
Thud! His body dropped.
Hawk shook his head, unimpressed. "What a fool."
…
An hour later, Hawk was back on Palm Street.
Sitting in the living room, he pulled out his second phone—the one Gwen had given him after Quantico. He dialed while studying a driver's license.
Daevon Simmons.
The man who had thought himself clever enough to negotiate with Hawk.
The call connected.
"Hawk!" A delighted voice answered. Anna.
"Good evening, Anna. Not disturbing you, am I?"
"Morning, actually," she said with a smile, pulling her curtains open in a Parisian manor. "It's seven a.m. here."
"Right." Hawk cut straight to business. "I need you to look into someone. Focus on his bank accounts. See if there's a transfer of a hundred thousand dollars. If yes, trace the sender."
"No problem. Name?"
"Daevon Simmons. From New York."
The same man Hawk had overheard earlier boasting about advance payment. That was all Hawk needed: a trail to the employer.
Anna jotted it down. "Got it. How soon?"
"The sooner the better."
"Alright. I'll update you as soon as I have something."
"Thanks."
"Of course."
Hawk hung up.
In Paris, Anna lingered on his name. After Quantico, the organization had marked Hawk as someone they must recruit. And since she had been his first point of contact, her own status had risen.
Just yesterday she had been wondering for an excuse to reach out again—relationships needed maintenance, after all.
Now Hawk had contacted her first. Perfect.
She smiled, looking at the name on her notepad, then quickly placed another call. Hawk trusted her. She wouldn't disappoint him.
…
The next day, Hawk returned to school by bus.
Gwen was absent. After the kidnapping attempt, she and her younger brothers were staying home under police watch until things calmed down.
Mary Jane was waiting instead. She dragged Peter along, eyes sparkling with gossip.
"Hawk! What happened? Kidnapping? Is it true? Who did it? Do you know?"
Hawk blinked, caught off guard by the machine-gun questioning. He glanced at Peter, silently pleading.
Peter gave an apologetic smile. His meaning was clear: Mary decided what was "big" or "small." And this counted as big.
Poor Spider-Man. Already domesticated, Hawk thought grimly.
He sighed, then said, "Didn't you two take jobs? Mary at the diner, Peter back at the Daily Bugle?"
Mary rolled her eyes. "Gwen was attacked! Of course we're here."
"Fine. It was a failed kidnapping. The culprits are still at large. Gwen's safe at home. That's all. Happy?"
Mary frowned but nodded.
"Good. I've got to see my counselor." Hawk slipped away, heading to request leave.
No issues there. With credits secured and college admission in hand, leave was practically automatic.
And right as he stepped out of the office—
Ding!
A text from Anna.
He opened it, reading the name she'd uncovered.
His brows rose sharply.
Only one thought filled his head:
If you cut the grass but don't pull the roots, spring winds will make it grow again.
…
(End of Chapter)
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